The Blind Side
by xfailingxheartbeatx
Summary: AU. When Dick Grayson, the wealthy adopted boy, sees a lone Conner Kent wandering down a cold road without a coat, he invites him to spend the night at Wayne Manor. However, he may have taken in a lot more than he bargained for. Slash.
1. OneWay Street

Urrgh, attack of the random plot bunnies. My mortal enemies.

Anyways, I watched the Blind Side for the first time a while back. At first I was like, _'Pft. Another football movie? I detest sports!'_ Then I actually sat down and watched. O_O And it was so heart-wrenchingly good!

That's where the plot bunnies came in. Doesn't the quiet and protective brute Mike Soher seem like the perfect match for AU Superboy? _Hello,_ Megan!

Plus, this pairing needs more AU love, or more fic love in general! And, I had the urge to do an AU in this fandom! So enough explaining, let's get on with the show, shall we?

* * *

The sun had already partially disappeared under the horizon by the time Dick finished with gymnastics practice. He entered the sleek black vehicle drumming with leftover adrenaline, his body humming with the energy he had burnt off during the exercise.

"Did you have a nice workout, Master Dick?" the butler, who also acted as a driver, inquired.

"You bet, Alfred," he answered cheerfully, to the man who was more of a friend than a servant.

Once the extra boost began to wear off, Dick sat back against the leather interior of the car, thoroughly beat. Not that the routine was difficult for him to handle. Nothing about gymnastics was a problem for a Grayson.

Flipping, handstands, flying across the trapeze? Every aspect of it came naturally. Performing ran thick through his blood, Jack Haly always said. After leaving the circus business behind even, Dick never lost his passion for soaring the sky.

Relaxed, he watched the lights of Gotham city pass by the transparent window pane. From a distance, the image was enchanting, as the countless buildings flew by in a haze. Up close, this wasn't case. In reality, Gotham was about as corrupted as they came.

They halted to a stop in one of the more seedier areas of town. On that note, Dick opened his eyes and glanced out the window again, taking a more serious observation of their surroundings. There was no significant sign of trouble, though he did catch sight of an unknown character walking into his line of vision.

But then the figure strolled under a nearby street lamp, and the young acrobat realized that it was not such a stranger after all.

"Superboy," Dick spoke absently.

"Pardon?" asked Alfred from the front seat, but the boy hardly heard him. He was busy trying to recall the memory containing all that he knew about the mysterious upperclassman.

_The sun had been beating down on both their faces on the warm September afternoon. Wally and him were basking in the nice weather while it lasted. Right after last bell, so the building was still dispensing, when Dick spotted an unfamiliar face. He didn't know what made it so important, but he pointed the kid out to his friend and asked for some illumination._

_Wally glanced over and replied, "Him? Just started here this year. Actually, I think he's in the junior class."_

_Dick studied the far away figure. Even with the distance, he could see that the older student was clearly tall and broad enough to be mistaken for a senior who had been held back a few years._

_"What's his name?" Uninterested, Wally had merely shrugged._

_"Dunno. Everybody calls him Superboy."_

_Tilting his head in curiosity, Dick had asked, "Why call him that?"_

_"Hello, Richard!" sang Wally in an imitation of their friend Megan Morazz, giving his forehead a playful flick. "The guy has muscles as thick as your smarty-pants skull!"_

_Dick bristled. "So? Roy's an archer, yet his nickname in elementary school was Speedy."_

_"Yeah, from what I hear, that's explainable too, just not in ways your innocent mind can comprehend," Wally whispered with a wink._

Ending with the faded sound of laughter, the memory receded back into the unused recesses of his mind. Dick frowned, wondering why the enigmatic student had never crossed his mind again afterwards. Perhaps their paths simply didn't coexist?

Still. Dick couldn't help but feel a stirring of guilt in the pit of his gut as he watched the lone figure steadfastly walk on. Here he was heading home to a luxurious mansion, whilst poor Superboy was facing down the nightly breeze without a jacket.

Where were his parents? Sure, Gotham had a reputation for harboring some really unsavory residents, but no one in a sane state of mind would allow their child to wander the streets alone at this hour. But if the rumors Dick occasionally caught wind of were anything to go by, maybe Superboy had nobody to teach him otherwise.

If Mrs. Grayson were alive, she'd be tutting incessantly. As it was, she was probably rolling in her grave as Dick internally struggled over what to do. It should be a no-brainer—keep going like it was any other ordinary evening. But with his stomach churning, his mind racing, his insides collectively screaming _wrong..._

In the end, Dick sighed.

"Alfred, pull over, please?"

"Master Dick?" the butler questioned.

"Just...please."

As soon as the car parked at the curb, Dick stepped out and shut the door. Wasting no time, he raced towards the dark-haired form.

"Hey, er, Superboy! Right?" he called. To his relief, the other boy slowed to a reluctant halt.

When Dick finally caught up, it became painfully clear that Wally's exaggerations were not unfounded. The was boy _was_ rather tall, and muscular, and particularly formidable to a kid of Dick's size. Luckily, size did not intimidate him very much.

"We, uh, go to school together. You're two grades ahead of me, right? Right. I'm Dick Grayson," he introduced. Lame, yes, but it at least warranted a rebuttal. Still, Superboy gave no response.

Dick sighed. What had he been expecting? Confronting the renowned mute to go smoothly? _Fine,_ he decided, _if politeness or tact won't work, a straightforward approach was the only alternative._

His mother would be proud. "Dude, where's your coat? If you haven't noticed by now, it's a bit nippy for all us normal humans out here."

Scowling, Superboy stepped aside and began retreating in the directed he had been heading before. Well. Verbal or not, the man knew how to get a point across.

Obviously, Superboy wanted nothing do with him or his attempts at conversation. Nevertheless, Dick was unwilling to be deterred or defeated.

Like the lunatic Wally claimed him to be, Dick chased after the larger boy and strived to keep up with the brisk pace. Superboy continued on with his superb act of ignorance.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he persisted anyway.

"Gym," was the curt reply.

"Which one?"

Superboy seemed to consider answering. Punching out the puny pest probably sounded pretty darn good at the moment, Dick guessed. Many jocks might do the same. However, that didn't seem to be the case with Superboy. He was definitely annoyed by Dick's antics, yet hardly had any intention of attacking out of irritation. Temper conquered by control; it was a combination the acrobat respected.

Breaking off from his inner musings, Dick heard the upperclassman finally grunt, "Young Justice."

Assuming that was the end of the discussion, Superboy sped up again. Dick increased his pace as well, clearly unimpressed. After all, he too spent a lot of time at that facility.

"Sure, yeah, except that I know for a fact that Young Justice is closed by this time on a weekday."

Superboy stopped where he stood.

_Busted._

"Uh huh. So, let's try speaking the truth now, if you don't mind."

Superboy whipped around, and for a second, Dick feared being hit. At last, an expression of emotion appeared on the older boy's face.

"Do _I_ mind?" he hissed. "What do _you_ want from me?"

Interesting point. Dick was decidedly still in the midst of figuring that out. But while he was waiting, there was no argument against winging it, right?

"Would you like to spend the night at my house?"

The words sprung out of his mouth of their own accord. But once they were free, there was no way of swallowing them back. Shock settled onto Superboy's face, but Dick doubted anybody was more surprised than himself.

Finally, after an eternity of coming to grips with the situation, the upperclassman interrupted the pause:

"Are you...joking?"

"No way," Dick chirped.

Superboy's suspicion melted into confusion.

"You are...being serious?"

"Totally. We can have a brotastic sleepover, or so Wally calls it when he stays over—Nope? Yeah, Wally does come up with some pretty lame names. Regardless, we have a ton of spare rooms that are going to waste. Be doing me a big favor if you put one of them to use."

Icy blue eyes appraised him for a long juncture. Dick shivered slightly in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. After all, _he_ was wearing a proper coat. Wool just didn't protect against all matters of cold.

"You're not going to let me say no," said Superboy. Not a question but a statement.

Dick smiled. "You _really_ don't have a choice in the matter."

Apparently, the victory was unanimous. Without further adieu, Dick gestured towards the car and Superboy languidly followed. He slid in beside Dick and said nothing. Which was a victory nonetheless.

"Home, Alfred." Alfred raised a inquiring brow, yet did as ordered without a word. Thank God for Alfred, Dick inwardly sighed. Always imploring, never judgmental. Bruce, on the other hand...

Well, they'd cross that bridge they get to it.

* * *

"Home sweet home," Dick sang upon arrival. Superboy hesitated in the doorway. "Come on in. I promise it's not haunted."

Taking a tentative few steps, he calmly waited for the older boy to stroll inside. Icy blue eyes were observing the vast ceilings and ornately crafted walls of the proud Wayne Manor.

"A bit much to take in at first glance, I know." Dick nodded understandably. "The day I first arrived, I swore this place was a castle. However, we're a few towers shy of making the cut."

The joke was weak, and with their sagely butler parking the car, he had no idea where to proceed from here.

"Do you need a shower or anything?" asked Dick without thinking. Then he blushed, realizing how incredibly awkward that sounded. In a hurried bid to change the subject, he suggested something else.

"How about a quick snack before bed?"

Without waiting for an answer, Dick led Superboy into the kitchen. If there was one thing Alfred taught him, it was that food was a tremendous ice breaker. Coincidentally, Tim happened to be inhabiting the kitchen at the moment they entered, munching on a plate of cookies and milk.

Using all the tact expected for a kid his age, Tim asked the unfamiliar person, "Who are _you?"_

"Manners," Dick reminded. "Tim, this is a classmate of mine from school, Superboy. Superboy, this is my little brother, Tim Drake."

At his insistance, the guest took a seat next to the younger boy whilst Dick scrounged up a light platter of bologna, cheese, and chips. "Bon appetite," he said with flourish, taking a seat across from the two.

Childishly, Tim openly surveyed the newcomer. After a only a few seconds of intense scrutiny (small attention spans were something to be grateful for), he smiled in approval.

If only adults were so easily appeased.

"Cool." Tim's face dropped in befuddlement. "But why is he here so late?"

"He's staying the night," replied Dick.

"Did you already ask Bruce?"

"Yes...no...not yet," he confessed.

It took a minute for the absurdity of the situation to sink in.

"Oh, man," Tim giggled. "Bruce is so gonna kill you!"

Dick scowled. "Yeah? And why is my premeditated death so funny?"

"S'not. But earlier today I accidentally knocked over an expensive vase in the hallway. Thought I was toast for sure. Compared with what you did, however, I might get off scotch free!"

Worst part? Tim's giddy reasoning was most likely true, and it gave him the urge to wipe the smirk off his little brother's face.

Dick turned to Conner, whose focus was now mildly interested in watching the sibling exchange.

"Pay no attention to him," he huffed. "I had wanted a monkey, Alfred was adamantly against the suggestion, so we bought Timmy instead. Knew I shouldn't have taught him the speak command, since he kind of ran away with it."

"Hey!" shouted the indignant Tim, who was promptly shut up by a wedge of cookie Dick shoved in his mouth.

"Bad. No speakie with your mouth full." He grinned back at Conner and gestured for the slightly amused teenager to follow him upstairs.

The second floor was filled with a vast number of bedrooms. Since there were rarely any visitors, most of them remained empty yet perfectly eligible.

"So...take your pick?" He trailed off, realizing that the older boy would have no clue whatsoever on where to begin. "Or I guess I could show you to your suite?"

Debating, Dick decided on a personal favorite, discovered during his many explorations back when he was first adjusting to the eerie estate.

"Maybe not the best we have, but I always liked this room. The view of the city is tremendous." The old door creaked open unwelcomely, causing Dick to wince. "Or if you would prefer a different one, I could—"

"It's fine," said Superboy gruffly. At Dick's unsure expression, he nodded reassuringly. "Whatever you think is best, I'll take."

At the small admission of trust, Dick managed a smile. "Alright, then. The bathroom is three doors down on the left, and my room is four rooms down and across the hall on your right. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Superboy entered the room, and rather than walking towards the bed, he stayed stone still in the center, glancing about like he'd never seen anything akin to it before. His inaction worried Dick.

"Will you be okay?" he asked.

For a beat or two, no answer was forthcoming. Then, as if awoken from a self-induced stupor, Superboy shook his head and uttered a solid, "Yes."

Nodding, the teenager playing host tonight went as if to leave.

"...Dick."

Startled, as Superboy had never attempted to initiate conversation (let alone say his name), Dick quickly poked his head back inside the room. What was so important...?

Eyes averted bashfully, Conner mumbled a quiet but definitely sincere, "Thank you."

Sufficiently stunned again, the boy on the receiving end simply stood there dumbstruck, until a grin foolish enough to match graced his features.

"Don't mention it," Dick said while walking out, and softly shut the door behind.

* * *

Good thing they bought Tim instead. Superboy hates monkeys. XD

Pretty, pretty please review with tiny, black bat sprinkles on top?


	2. Lone Wolf

Omg, you guys are _terrific!_ Seriously, I was not expecting such an enthusiastic response! But you were all so kind, so eager for the next chapter, so here you go!

Also, for anybody who hasn't seen the movie but enjoys this story so far, I highly recommend it. It's on this Sunday on ABC family, at least for those in the U.S.

Disclaimer: By the way, just to clarify, I own nothing.

* * *

Fidgeting and fiddling. Two actions Dick was unusually despised. Yet here he stood, doing both at once, making himself more nervous by the second.

Stalling was another action, or lack thereof, he was particularly unhappy to be acquainted with. Under normal circumstances, Dick prided himself in being a generally straightforward person. Nevertheless, in instances out of the ordinary such as this one, perhaps a slight change in character was not unwarranted.

_To tell Bruce or not to tell_—well, it wasn't so much of a question, as much as a delicate dilemma. Whatever the solution was, agonizing wasn't the answer. He would have to do something soon.

If need be, Dick could've just smuggled Superboy in and out and Bruce would have been none the wiser. There was no chance of him visiting that assumedly empty room at night, and he would probably be gone for work before the rest of them awoke tomorrow morning.

The only reason Dick was bothering to be up front was because he hated lying to his adopted father. (Goody-twoshoes, Wally would mock). Wayne's trust was a tough thing to gain, but Dick owned a decent percentage of that overall trust in humanity.

Despite being an adolescent by nature, he dreaded the day he'd betray that trust.

Tim, the little sneak he was, wouldn't actually tip Bruce off if Dick asked in earnest. And Alfred, well, Alfred was as loyal as they came. However, the butler wouldn't rat them out until Superboy was safely escorted off the premises. He had a soft spot for pitiful-looking children (Dick knew from experience).

Taking a deep breath, Dick threw caution to the wind and slipped inside the study before he could convince himself otherwise.

"Hi, Dick," Bruce greeted pleasantly, scribbling something down on an official-looking document. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

_Oh, yeah. It was sort of a school night._

"Yeah, I'm on my way there," he explained. "But before I do...I thought you _might_ want to know..."

Ripping off the band-aid, Dick got it all out in one go—better to brief when confronting the boss over tender subjects, Lucius Fox had told him during a visit so long ago he had been handed a lollipop upon arrival.

Expecting a nuclear explosion—or implosion, knowing Bruce—Dick awaited a response.

Setting down his pen, Bruce raised two index fingers to his temples in correspondence to an oncoming headache. "What were you thinking?" he sighed exasperatedly, like an owner scolding his new puppy.

Immediately, Dick went into defensive mode.

"I was thinking, 'Huh, this kid has nowhere to go on a chilly November night. Perhaps I should do a decent thing and rent one of the many superfluous rooms going to waste in our stately manor.'"

"It wasn't your call," was the blunt, completely irrefutable reply. He nearly faltered.

"I probably should have consulted you first," conceded Dick. "It was an impulsive, split-second decision, okay? But I don't regret it a bit."

"How well do you even _know_ this boy?"

"Enough to know he's not a threat."

A dark eyebrow rose. "What makes you so firm?"

"My gut."

Again, another sigh; deep and exhaled through the nostrils. Now, Dick decided, if ever, was the time to try his luck and present his case to the best of his ability. For Superboy's sake.

"Please, Bruce. He needs a place to stay for the night; just one, measly night! Can't we spare some non-public charity this once? Provide a young man with a roof over his head?"

"Isn't that his parents' job?" Bruce demanded.

"He doesn't have any." Of that, Dick was ninety-seven percent certain. And even if Superboy did, they were obviously the crappy kind that didn't deserve kids. So no, other family members were not an option.

"Which I can relate to quite personally," he added for resonance.

Bruce pierced him with the sharpest look possible. "We're not discussing you, Richard."

Use of the full first name: the classic parental warning sign. Still, Dick refused to be intimidated away from the argument. Wasn't it Bruce who always taught him to stand his ground?

"Maybe not, but let's face it. He _is_ me. I mean, he's what _could_ have been me. If it wasn't for you, I might be in a similar situation right now."

A shadow fell across his guardian's expression, and Dick almost felt guilty for putting it there. Almost.

Bruce's statement was quiet and final. "You aren't."

Dick swallowed thickly. "But I could have."

A fact which haunted them both.

It was a rare vision to see a glimpse past the rough exterior that comprised Bruce's personality. Sure, he was civil to fellow socialites and charming to the public, but it was all a well-rehearsed act. Truthfully, his adopted father was a closed book on a shelf that refused to see visitors.

Unless you were Dick Grayson, the orphaned boy with a big heart, who had somehow managed to crack the twelve-foot ice surrounding the billionaire playboy's facade. Then you had the chance to his view softer side more than most others.

"Do you really believe he poses no threat whatsoever?" asked Bruce exhaustively.

"Yes," recited Dick. Whoever Superboy may be, he wasn't a bad person. After an eternity of stabilizing seconds, his guardian nodded.

"One night," Bruce approved. It was slim victory, a grudging victory, but a win nonetheless. Dick mentally cheered.

"Thanks a bunch, Bruce," he said graciously. "I swear he won't be any trouble!"

Bruce merely hummed under his breath, expressing certain doubts over that exclamation. Unwilling to stick around long enough for him to change his mind, Dick said a quick goodnight before bidding his father adieu.

He slept less than soundly that night, but at least it wasn't due to a suffering conscience.

* * *

The next morning, Dick awoke in his normal fashion. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his bare feet touched the floor, he was only groggily aware of his surroundings, when the recent events of last night came back to him. He hurriedly made himself presentable in order to rush downstairs.

When Dick arrived, it was the oddest sight that met him: bulky Superboy sitting next to a giddy Tim, who was happily chattering away to the less-than-thrilled teenager.

"Um, morning?" He nodded towards their guest, "I see you're awake."

"He was trying to sneak away unnoticed," Tim tattled.

Dick frowned. "Why?"

Looking away, Superboy sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled something like, "Didn't wanna be a bother."

Tim went on unabashedly, "But Wayne Manor is so huge that he didn't know where he was going! I heard him wandering around and told him to stay for breakfast."

It took a lot of self-control to keep from outright snickering. Superboy was staring at the pint-sized cereal muncher as though he had never seen anything quite like him before. In spite of himself, Dick was unable to prevent a very amused smirk.

"Well, it _is_ the most important meal of the day," he reasoned.

"Glad to see my teachings have finally sunk in, Master Dick," said Alfred as he entered the dining room, carrying two hearty plates of eggs, bacon, and grapefruit. He placed one in front of Dick and the other in front of their guest. "Tuck in, boys."

They ate in a relatively comfortable atmosphere, which surprised Dick, seeing as though Superboy had only stayed for one evening in total. But it felt almost normal sitting there all together, even with Bruce's work-related absence. Unfortunately, like many good things in life, their time together was ruined by school.

"I believe we should prepare to leave," declared Alfred, proceeding to check the clock. "Lest you three be tardy, and considering the mood Master Bruce is in, that may not be in everyone's best interest. Especially you, Master Dick."

Flushing, Dick tried to chuckle away the warning, even though it was dreadfully accurate. Tim shot him a look that mocked _"Ha, you're on thin ice" _while Superboy appeared apologetic.

Reading the signs of blame, Dick touched his shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, not your fault. You reap what you sow, and I'm the one with the scythe here. Got it?"

Wordlessly, Superboy nodded.

"I'll stop at the high school first before escorting Master Timothy to the elementary building," Alfred informed.

"Aww, wait, can't Superboy come to school with me today?" whined Tim.

Both teenagers stared at the younger child.

"I was gonna take him for show-and-tell!" he wailed disappointedly.

This time around Dick didn't even bother trying to stifle his laughter.

"Maybe another day," he offered consolingly, which was hard to do convincingly, "if Superboy's okay with it."

For his part, Superboy looked utterly lost as to what was being asked of him or its importance.

"Uh...sure?" he said eventually, sounding entirely uncertain. Tim whooped for joy anyway.

"Yess! Let's see Jaime Reyes top that!"

As they clamored into the car, Tim complaining about rival show-and-tell showdowns in his class, Dick saw Superboy hesitate at the car. And he recognized the confliction splayed across the older boy's face, that confusing mixture of _"This feels right"_ and _"Yet it doesn't." _It was last night's conversation all over again. He understood to such a degree that he knew how to help.

So to start, Dick smiled knowingly and kicked open the back door.

"Need a lift?"

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Wally said slowly, as though Dick was incapable of hearing each individual syllable correctly. "You see a giant walking down the street without a coat, get all puppy-eyed and sad, so then invite the guy to spend the night in your mansion. _Dude,_ I'm worried."

"I really don't see the big deal, Wally," he replied for the hundredth time that morning. "Supes may have bark, but no bite. Actually, no bark either—if you haven't noticed, the guy barely speaks."

"I assumed he was mute," remarked Artemis offhandedly, joining into the conversation. "Not a man of many words. But those pectorals. _Mmm."_

"Your female hormones are so not helping," muttered Wally, making a face. "Was it the pecs, Dick? Do _not_ be fooled. Because if girls are anything to go by, a nice chest does not mean—"

"Hey, guys!" a new voice entered the scene. Wally quickly trailed off that particular line of thought; smart move, since Artemis was within perfect smacking distance. "What are we all talking about?"

A familiar face had just approached the table. Megan Morazz was a friendly girl with red hair and auburn eyes. She was currently carrying a trey of salad for lunch and observing the residents of their table with intrigue.

"Obviously, Megan remains woefully uninformed of Grayson's act of kindness last night," Artemis realized. She gestured for their friend to take the empty seat beside of her. Megan sat down and listened intently while the other girl filled her in.

"Oh, wow! Dick, that's like, the sweetest story ever. I'm so proud of you," she said in way that sounded akin to a sister congratulating her little brother. Wally pouted.

"So Dickie picks up a stray and gets more honor than usual, and what of poor Wallace?" he asked affrontedly.

"What praiseworthy things have you done lately?" Artemis wanted to know, an eyebrow raised.

"Plenty. While just last week, I paid for Bette Kane's candy bar after she lost her dollar."

"With the money I leant you," Dick reminded. Smirking, Wally shrugged in a 'what can you do?' way.

"Your money, my generosity."

* * *

A black-haired boy exited the school building after the last bell, unbothered and unheeded, which was exactly how he preferred. Hands shoved into his pockets and expression aloof, he crossed the busy intersection without so much as a wince to reach the familiar figure waiting on the other side.

Wolf's tail wagged upon seeing him approach.

"Hey, boy," Superboy said with a smile. The scruffy mammal immediately nuzzled his outstretched arm, indicating that he was relieved to see his missing master.

"Good, Wolf," he went on, scratching his faithful companion behind the ear.

"Want to go find some grub?" asked Superboy, to which Wolf barked agreeably. Smirking again, the broad boy was about to go do just that, when his keen eyesight caught somebody else.

The Grayson boy. Dick, he remembered. The kind kid who offered him a warm bed and meal, with the funny little brother and the butler with the cool accent. Who lived in house larger than the street he grew up on.

He was standing solo, head twisting in every direction. Like he was looking for someone... _Me?_ Superboy wondered incredulously. A startled sense of hope flooded his chest.

Then a ginger-haired boy joined him, followed by a blonde girl, both of whom he recognized from some of his classes. However, he couldn't place their names. Whomever they were, the boy had Dick involved in an animated conversation, and the girl seemed to be adding in her two cents as well. The interaction appeared so natural and friendly from afar.

A strange feeling infiltrated his stomach: Temptation. Should he abandon his original endeavor and re-cross the street like his feet were urging? Or stay put like his mind insisted?

In the end, Superboy's heart made the decision for him.

Swiftly, he motioned for his fellow stray to follow when he stepped out of sight and swept into the shadows.

* * *

Disappointedly, Dick had a sinking feeling as he stood just beyond the school's front doors, searching for any sign of Superboy. There was no evidence of the upperclassman anywhere...

"Dick, you okay?" asked Artemis.

He shook himself from the stupor, willing himself to look his friend in the face.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I was just..." Dick's attempts were fruitless as his eyes continued to scour the area in vain. Shaking his head, he quietly affirmed, "Nothing. Never mind."

"Cheer up, dude," said Wally comfortingly, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "I'll pay you back for the vending machine at the arcade, okay?"

That garnered a smile. "Thanks, man."

He never noticed the icy blue eyes watching their departure from the safe confines of the alleyway.

* * *

Oh, Conner, playing hard to get? And honestly Dick, you could have won that argument a lot faster had you just batted those beautiful baby blue eyes to make Daddy!Bats melt. But no, that would just be too easy.

Longer than I expected, but no complaints, right?

So I know you all know where the review button is. Press it, please! (And remember, Batman is watching to make sure you do. O_O)


	3. Collide

You people continue to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside with your awesome feedback! And, well, your efforts have paid off, because I managed to finish this last night! Yay, weekends!

Written mostly while listening to Collide by Howie Day, hence the title of the chapter. Please forgive any mistakes I may have missed.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone!

* * *

Arriving at Young Justice gym after hours, succeeding a rough day of school and a subsequent bout of brooding, Superboy and his faithful hound slipped in and locked the door behind. He yawned, seriously beat and in heavy need of a replenishing rest. He curled up on his favorite bench to get comfortable.

Superboy enjoyed spending the night here best, mostly since the owner of the gym—John Smith, nicknamed 'Red Tornado'—always left the door open for him as a vague token of invitation. That way he didn't have to feel the minor twinge of guilt over breaking-and-entering.

Slumber swam into his mind so easily that Superboy swore his head had barely touched the smooth, wooden surface before he was lost to a world of dreams. A realm sometimes visited by nastier sights and sounds.

_Hands grabbing, restraining his movement, forcing him backwards. An unfriendly vehicle awaited his entrance, but Superboy yanked himself away from it, fighting for freedom from the fingers clutching both biceps._

_'I don't wanna go,' the phrase repeated itself inside his childish mind, going on and on like a mental mantra of hope, 'I don't wanna go. Please, don't let them take me!'_

_The last plea was directed towards a specific person, who stood stagnant on the opposite end of the room from the door they were attempting to drag him out of. She signified the safety of the home he refused to leave. He reached for the woman, wanted to remain here in her presence, and to go nowhere else._

_Yet she stayed still, unmoving and crying inaudible tears._

_"Mom!" Superboy mouthed at the top of his lungs, exerting his chest to the point of bursting, yet no sound came forth—_

His eyelids popped open like an electric shock current. Body covered in a thin sheen of cool sweat, Superboy ran a hand hand through his silky locks. On the floor next to his makeshift bed, Wolf mewled lethargically.

Judging by the lack of cars rumbling past the building and the utter blackness cast across the sky, it was sometime after midnight. Probably near the wee hours of the morning, his biological clock guessed—maybe three, four am?

Either way, Superboy felt no sense of peace any longer with the remnants of nightmarish memory still receding. Alertness poured in a like splash of cold water, as unrelenting as the current of a waterfall, sending him into an upright position before his better instincts could protest.

There was no sense in laying back down. No chance of avoiding the monsters that stalked the inner, darkened corners of his mind.

Sleep would evade him for the remainder of the night.

* * *

"So, where's Kid Mouth at?" asked Roy casually, exiting the school grounds with Dick in tow.

"Track practice," explained the younger boy. "I would have stayed, but I haven't got the mental capacity to watch him purposely wag his butt at the spectators. Not when I've so much homework to attend to."

His redheaded companion snorted, throwing an arm around his skinner shoulders. "Amen to that, Grayson."

Dick snickered alongside his friend, wholeheartedly focused on the feeling of amusement rapidly pervading his spirits. Maybe he'd laughed a little too zealously, overcompensating for the fact that his mind occasionally wandered off into a more rugged area of waves.

A week had went by without word from Superboy, and due to a worthwhile amount of self-restraint and willpower, Dick dealt. Since the other continued to avoid him, their ordeal remained woefully unresolved. Not for lack of trying on Dick's part. How did he get by? By convincing himself that maybe this was the universe's way of setting everything right, that this was how their lives were meant to be—facile and separate.

It truly had been a full twenty-four hours devoid of complications. _I should be thankful he's gone,_ Dick reminded himself whenever the nagging thoughts emerged, _Otherwise things probably wouldn't be so serene._

"You alright? Lately, you've seemed a bit down," Roy noted with a hint of worry.

_For the past week, you mean? Yeah, I seem to lamenting about some brutish, bare conversationalist who I'm pretty sure is also homeless. I may or may not be losing my mind over the matter. Creepy, right?_

Of course, saying so aloud might lead to him being committed. And he had to be home for dinner by five.

"Me? I'm doing great. Just a little fatigued, maybe. Classes have been piling up, plus my tutoring and gymnastics. Though it can't be any worse than _your_ senior work load."

His younger friend's odd behavior forgotten, Roy sighed. "Tell me about it," he groaned.

_I officially rock a deflecting,_ Dick applauded.

"In fact, if I don't hurry my ass up, I'll be tardy for my work at the garage." He checked his watch in discontent. "Which leaves me less time to do that all-important English essay."

"Ah, the plight of oncoming graduation," Dick wiped a mock tear from his eye.

"You said it, squirt," chuckled Roy. "Well, come on, I can still drop you off quick."

"Go ahead," Dick waved. "I promised to pick up Tim today. Walking won't kill me."

Roy looked uncertain. He treated the raven-haired boy like a little brother more than a close friend, and hated to leave him hanging. "Sure you don't want a ride?"

Rolling his eyes, Dick called, "Dillydally any longer, _Speedy,_ and even you won't be fast enough to make your shift!"

Scowling, the redhead gave in and started towards his car.

"Fine," he barked back. "Take care!"

"Always!" Dick shouted, which in this case, may have been a slight fib.

He took a shortcut through an alley near the florist to make sure he got there early. Tim hated when he was tardy probably more then Roy's boss, he joked privately, so he tried to abstain from it as best he could. Then again, enclosed street corridors, even during the well lit afternoon hours, were not always the safest route.

Really, though, what might happen?

Dick bemoaned the traitorous words as soon as they entered his mind; for a moment later a big, white-colored blur shot out in front of him, shocking the skin off the sole of his feet as he quickly skidded to a halt.

He jumped back a fair few feet in fright. When his heart finally decided to cooperate properly again, Dick saw that the creature was truly no monster at all—simply a very large, wild-looking wolf...dog. He was going to go with dog.

"Phew," the freshman sighed, gaining back control over his pulse. "Thank God, I'm by my lonesome. My friends would never have let me forget it if they saw how you scared the living crap out of me."

Having no idea what the hell he was babbling on about, the dog ignored him in favor of sniffing the air.

"Sorry, no food," Dick told it regrettably, "but I guarantee I can offer a very nice pet."

He extended a hand to demonstrate, causing the animal to release a low warning growl. But Dick knew from his circus days how to tame a beast, so he stood his ground and waited patiently.

After sniffing the outstretched appendage and deciding that he meant no harm, the animal gave permission for him to scratch the top of his scruffy head. Being in the stray's presence relaxed him somewhat, draining the tension of his system with a rush of fondness.

"Who do you belong to?" _If anyone,_ he corrected.

"Wolf?" a new voice beckoned, followed by a whistle. The dog's ears immediately perked as he scrambled to obey. Recognizing the caller's deep tone, Dick whipped around, too, and who should he see but the person who'd been plaguing his conscience for the past week?

It was a stupefied Superboy who met his gaze, next to the dog, who had planted itself at his side.

Oh. _Oh._

Well, what a coincidence, was the phrase hovering off his tongue, craving to be used. Instead his lips remained fastened shut, his eyes locked onto the pair staring straight back, each of them unwilling to forfeit.

Let the complications ensue.

* * *

Superboy had steadfastly taken to shunning his existence, plopping down on the curb and declining to meet his inquiring glare. Dick paced beside his fixed position, alternating between watching Wolf lounge in the nearby grass and stomping his foot in impatience.

After almost a week's worth of worrying, wondering, and vexatious sentiments lingering in the atmosphere like a bad smell, Dick just wanted everything out in the open. It was the only way to clear the air of the stench. And it looked like he'd have to begin the whole affair. Oh, joy.

"So what, one night and that's it? You won't even speak to me anymore?" demanded Dick. His nose scrunched up in gesture fueled by confusion and frustration. "Am I bothering you or something?"

"No," was the brusque reply.

"Have I offended you in any way?"

"No."

Despondency melted into liquid nothing, allowing annoyance to take its place. "Then what have I done to deserve the cold shoulder? The least you could do is look me in the face!"

Abruptly, Superboy's neck whipped up with an audible snap, his eyes wide and searching. His tone was just as commanding as Dick's when he snarled, "Why?"

"Why, _what?" _stressed Dick from between clenched teeth, so desperate to receive a solid answer.

"There are so many words I could use to finish that question," Superboy scoffed. _"Why_ did you take me? _Why_ did you let me into your home when you barely know who I am? _Why_ are you still talking to me, acting so nice, and being concerned? _Why_ are so suddenly interested in my life?"

Anger dissipating slightly—because for all the responses which were waiting to be wielded throughout this altercation, none arose—Dick went strangely blank. His silence spoke volumes to the other contender.

"Is it pity?" spat Superboy. His mouth curled into a sneer. "I don't want pity, nor do I need it. From anybody. Least of all you."

"This has nothing to do with pity," Dick snapped. "I just—I understand more than you think."

Shaking his head, the upperclassman's vocie was nearly a sigh. "You're avoiding the answer to any of my questions," he muttered bitterly.

What happened next Dick couldn't elaborate on if he tried. _Something_ in that short, insignifcant phrase ignited the touch that sent him into action.

Ramifications be damned, Dick was going to speak exactly what he felt; an oddly vulnerable choice. Somehow, Superboy had dredged these decisions from a pool of distress which hibernated beneath his skin, a lake of hidden truths. Like the walls of a damn bursting open into the unknown, Dick's walls proceeded to go crashing down in a flurry of raw validity.

"Because I can't stand the thought of you stranded without anywhere to stay, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?" he asked loudly.

Superboy's shocked expression paid no heed to his rant; since he was already off the handle, may as well finish the job, right? Time to let the bothersome verity break free, if only for a moment.

"It hurts," he continued to confess, unable to stem the flow of emotions whooshing past his defenses, "Deep inside, and I do not for the life of me know why, but thinking about you barely getting by on your own, I—"

_I think of myself and die a little inside._

An awkward space of quiet spread out between them, giving Dick a chance to catch his breath and gather his bearings together. What kind of psycho must he seem like now, he wondered, after blurting something so personal and stupid? Superboy was scarcely looking his way at all, much less making eye contact—

"Conner," the older boy spoke spontaneously.

So immersed within his wallowing, Dick missed it. Glancing back, the older boy was no longer slouching and studying his hands, but staring at him directly. The abrupt behavior change caught him off guard.

"Pardon?"

"Call me, Conner," Superboy reiterated. He leveled Dick with a look of such intensity it was hard to resist turning away. "It's my real name. Conner Kent."

"Oh," said Dick, at a loss.

Now, all of sudden, that tidbit of information seemed important? But in reality, Dick realized, it might very well be the most vital thing of all. Because who else, if anybody, called Superboy Conner? No one. Because it obviousy wasn't a fact he shared often. So why go to trouble of doing it here? ...unless he planned on sticking around to have it be used.

Slowly, a smile came to curl around Dick's lips.

_And that, by definition of the word, is progress._

"Alright, then. Conner. Geez, don't look so serious," he jibed. "All you had to do was ask."

Super—_Conner_ just shrugged.

Collapsing into the dirt dramatically, Dick heaved an enormous sigh. Their tireless interaction had finally been terminated, and after a battle of words and wits, they appeared to be getting somewhere. Where they were headed was still unclear, but Dick would be damned it he gave in half-way there.

They stayed seated on the curb for a while, watching the cars go by, simply basking in the evening air. It reminded Dick of that day which seemed like a lifetime ago, when it had been Wally beside him the first time he'd glimpsed Superboy. So much had changed since then, yet Dick couldn't bring himself to care.

Time meant change, for better or worse. He intended to strive for the former.

"So... Be honest. Do you have a place to crash tonight?"

Silently, Conner shook his head. Dick had expected as much.

He ascended onto his feet, took a second to brush off his pants, then held out a hand. The older boy gazed at the offer like a soldier did his superior officer before being deployed. With equal parts hope and trepidation.

Dick simply smiled.

"Come on. Alfred's cooking chicken."

* * *

So here we shed a bit of light on Conner's past. Plus, the boys are finally getting their acts together!

And also, _Roy_ was in this chapter. Seriously, how could anyone _not_ review?

Well, you know where the button is. Press it, please? I promise a nice update if you do!


	4. Adopting Strays

Sorry for the late update, everyone! But with two finals yesterday, and my last this morning, I've been pretty swamped. Ugh, education. Once summer vacation is here, however, I promise to get my butt in gear!

Until then, enjoy this chapter hot off the presses!

* * *

"One night, Richard. That was the deal. I specifically told you _not_ to grow attached."

"Well, I wouldn't say _I'm_ too attached per se," Dick slyly replied. "Timmy is the one I'm truly worried about."

"Tim?" echoed Bruce disbelievingly.

"Yes, he's become quite fond of Conner over the past week. Would be a shame for his heart to break at such a tender age. Criminal, really."

"Speaking of which," Bruce interrupted, a steely note entering his voice, "I have some news regarding your new _friend."_

Dick could tell by the tone that he was using the term loosely.

"Were you aware of his past?"

"You did a background check?" Of course he had. The man was Bruce freaking Wayne. But Dick tried to at least appear indignant towards this information on Conner's behalf.

"Conner has a criminal record," Bruce relayed stonily.

His stomach dropped into the sole of his shoes. Had this been what he was most afraid of? That the boy he knew—presumed he knew—was just as low as people assumed? Did Conner do something so terrible he was undeserving of redemption?

_Stop it,_ Dick ordered himself, chasing the doubts away. _You've talked with him before now, you know where's he coming from. Your record isn't spotless, either._

Bruce went on, "After reviewing the files, I am a tad more sympathetic to his situation. But that doesn't erase what he's done."

Piquing with suspense, Dick curiously inquired, "What _did_ he do?"

"It isn't my place to say," his guardian stated sternly, ensuring that whatever it might be, Dick would never hear it from him. "Privacy is pivotal when it comes to personal records."

"Unless they pertain to you," Dick deadpanned sourly.

The corner of Bruce's mouth quirked up. "Now you're learning."

His mirth disappeared as a serious expression tugged at the aged lines of his face.

"I just thought you should be aware of what you're getting yourself into." He frowned in his surrogate son's direction. "I worry, Dick. What I do I do out of concern. And we have enough on our plates without having to get entangled in more drama."

Certainly, Dick understood what his adopted father was saying. Being a billionaire playboy and his son didn't leave much room for anonymity or privacy, at least not when it came to their public lives. Each appearance at a restaurant could be splashed across the front page of a tabloid the next day, construing tales of fact or fiction.

Limelights were fun on stage, Dick'd learned, but otherwise? Yeah, they'd been involved in plenty of drama or 'sticky situations' before. Bruce had a very sane reason for avoiding them.

"I understand where you're coming from," he remarked appreciatively. Here, Dick grinned. "And I'm glad to see you have my back." He forced his features to sober slightly. "But won't you agree, Mr. Wayne, that sometimes the outcome is well worth the drama?"

Referring to, of course, the field day the paparazzi had so many years ago, when a particularly popular playboy decided to take in a small, traumatised circus orphan. He saw a sliver of recognition shift within dark blue eyes.

"It can be," Bruce acknowledged. He warned one last time, "But this is your grave to dig, Dick. Be prepared. Taking in a stray holds a lot of responsibility."

Dick blinked.

"He's not a dog, Bruce," he stressed. "Though while we're on the subject—what's Alfred's rule on house pets, again?"

His guardian arched an exasperated brow.

* * *

Turned out, Alfred's ruling on house pets was fairly lenient; providing they stayed outside. Which actually worked swell, since Conner insisted that enclosed spaces didn't bode well for the massive furball he called Wolf.

A name that suited the dog's ferocious stature.

But looks can be deceiving; Conner was the living proof. Like his owner, Wolf was perfectly friendly to anybody he deemed safe. Timmy already treated the mutt like a giant, cuddly puppy.

Although Dick may have been laying it on thick when he told his guardian that Tim would be devastated by Conner's absence, it hadn't be utterly unfounded. The two of them played well together, despite the massive difference in size. Tim taught Conner complex card games and showed him his latest video consoles—most of which Conner had never touched before.

It was pretty laughable to watch an oversized teenager fiddling with the tiny buttons and screen settings on a his little brother's DS.

Likewise, Dick also made an enormous effort to spend as much time with Conner as possible. After all, if this arrangement was going to work, they'd have to find more than just a common ground, right? So between studying and tutoring and gymnastic practice, Dick introduced Conner to his favorite activities, whilst encouraging Conner to reveal his own.

For a big guy, Dick discovered Conner enjoyed the simple pleasures in life most. Walking in the park with Wolf. Swimming in Wayne Manor's complimentary pool (Wolf was unjustly banned from this part of the mansion, as per Alfred's rules—apparently the pool cleaner could barely stand human hair clogging up the filter, let alone dog fur). Sketching out scenes on miscellaneous sheets of paper. Had a knack for it, too, prompting Dick to make a mental note of finding him a proper notebook to draw in.

Of course, there were some boundaries. At times, when Conner holed himself up in his room and wished to not be disturbed, Dick respected the distance required. After all, their tentative friendship was still new, so it shouldn't hurt to be blocked out like so. On the contrary, Dick had darks days of his own, when neither the presence of Wally or Tim or even Bruce permitted a sense of peace.

He _understood,_ which became apparent as the very foundation their budding relationship was building upon.

Though like all new things—cars for instance, for the sake of this analogy—bumps in the road were bound to be hit. For example, an overbearing father figure intent on dishing out the third degree to frequent guests...

Predictably, Bruce was present for dinner that first evening. No way was Conner being granted entrance into his household without a proper serving of the third degree.

Luckily, Dick had given Conner fair warning in advance. He failed to mention the part on how Bruce probably knew most all the answers to the questions he was asking, and therefore would be fully aware of when Conner was lying or replying incorrectly. Some aspects of the Wayne family initiation were better left unsaid.

"So, Conner," Bruce began, signaling the onslaught of questions to come. _Oh, no,_ Dick sighed, setting down his fork.

Hands steepled in front of his father's face, marking the transition into business mode. "Where are you originally from?"

"Metropolis," answered Conner. Concise, correct, and gratifying.

_Wow,_ Dick mused, wondering why these inquiries had escaped his own scope. _He's pretty far from home._

"How long have you been living in Gotham?"

Broad shoulders shrugged. "About a year."

Less short but more vague. Still. So far, so good.

Here comes the kicker. "Where are your parents employed?"

Instantly, Dick anticipated the trouble this question would bring.

Because this reply emerged much slower than the rest, as if Conner was unsure of how to say what he wanted. "My mom...worked at LexCorp for a bit. Before she quit."

Quit—indicating she worked somewhere else now. Or more likely, _nowhere._ And as anyone could have reckoned, Bruce pressed the matter. "Presently?"

A minute passed and then another. Conner was hesitating. Dick's spirits started to fall.

"I..."

"I can't blame her," Alfred announced, entering the dining area with a pitcher to pour Tim a fresh glass of juice; who thanked him around a mouth full of potatoes. Faithful butler in the nick of time, slicing a string of salvation in Conner's direction. "Lex Luthor is not the sort of man I fancy myself to associate with."

Snorting, Bruce hardly disagreed. He despised Luthor entirely, yet was unfortunately forced to do business with the slithering, snake of a man.

Before he exited, Dick swore Alfred sent him a wink of encouragement. He could barely hide his smirk.

"And your father?"

For a second, a shadow fell over Conner's countenance, darkening his face in a way Dick had never seen before. "I never knew him," he expressed bitterly.

_Touchy subject,_ Dick inwardly hissed, and Bruce's instincts were also keen enough to leave it alone.

Usually, that would have been it. To be frank, Dick felt relieved, as well as impressed. Not many handled themselves so calmly up against the intimidating I-can-make-you-disappear-with-one-phonecall Bruce Wayne.

So happy with these recent developments, Dick nearly missed the last, unexpected query.

"Have you joined any extra-curricular activities?"

_Eh?_ That seemed a tad off script.

Equally perplexed, Conner answered with a blank, "None."

Dick had never pegged Bruce as a shady person, but his next choice of words were downright suggestive. "You've never considered participating in sports? For instance...football?"

Slowly, the Superboy shook his head.

"Alright," said Bruce flippantly, posture relaxing. As if the entire interrogation never happened. "So, Tim," he began casually, moving on to more lighter topics.

Later, when the other occupants of the table were both distracted, Dick leaned over and whispered, "Intend to make an athlete out of him?" all the while eyebrows raised.

Shrugging, Bruce gave a vague response. "He could certainly pass for one." Which really didn't answer anything at all. Then he continued, around a long sip of wine, "Seeing the state of things, it definitely wouldn't _kill_ the kid to get involved in something that might get him a college scholarship."

Though Dick felt he should defend the brutally honest remark, a small, traitorous part him realized it was true. As of now, Conner had a dog, the clothes on his back, and secrets. Lots and lots of secrets. None of which would help him earn a brighter future.

_Taking in a stray means responsibility,_ Bruce had warned, and huh, it was starting to really sink in for Dick. Maybe simply understanding wasn't quite enough anymore. Like him, Conner had no parents. Unlike him, Conner had no Bruce or Alfred or Wally or friends to watch his six. Nobody to ensure a good quality of life.

Until now, because _now,_ the fate of his future rested in the confused but well-meaning hands of Dick Grayson.

* * *

Short, yes. Kinda. But other than that...

Good? Bad? I had a wee bit of trouble deciding what to do with this one. Reviews would greatly help! Wouldn't want my muse to starve, would you? *puppy eyes*


	5. Heroic

Sorry about the long wait, people, I'm a terrible person, I _know!_ But to sum it all up, I was supposed to go on an amazing trip to Europe this week that promised to be the best time I'd ever have in my life. Due to a bunch of lengthy circumstances, however, I did not. So, yeah, it's pretty depressing..

To help cope, I'm going to try and bury myself in my writing, and hopefully get back into the groove of things. So I hope you enjoy this chapter, lovely readers, and review! Your reviews make my day(:

* * *

"Bart, this is Conner," Tim introduced, as his two friends stood opposite of the older boy in question. "Conner, this is Bart Allen, Wally's cousin. And that's Billy Batson."

"Wow," said Bart, awed as he had to crane his neck just to stare at the famed 'Superboy'. "Where'd you get him?"

"Dick picked him up and took him home," explained Tim unashamedly.

"I picked up a slug once and tried to take it home with me, but my uncle wouldn't let me keep it," Billy mumbled.

"Yeah, well, Conner is way cooler than a slug," Tim reasoned. Conner grunted in agreement.

Bart grinned eagerly."Hey, Timmy, can he come over my house for a day? I promise I'll take real good care of him, and he can reach the shelf where I know Mom hides all the sugar!"

"No way, I can't share!" Tim refused. "He's _not_ a pet, guys! He's my new older brother!"

"Oh," the two boys chorused.

Some few feet away, the group of teenagers watched this meeting unfold in amusement.

"His _new _big brother?" Megan shot Dick a mirthful look.

The four of them—Artemis, Wally, Megan, and Dick—had agreed to have lunch in the park, since both Wally and Dick were saddled with babysitting duty and needed to entertain the kids. This gave Tim the prime opportunity to flaunt his newest friend.

"Yep, Tim already treats him like family. Conner's big and fun and the little squirt pesters him like there's no tomorrow. Actually gives me more room to breathe."

"Jealous?" she wondered.

"Hardly," snorted Dick.

"Well, if Dick marries Superboy someday, then he would be Tim's big brother," Wally pointed out.

Milk spurted out of Dick's mouth.

"Funny," Artemis said sarcastically.

"Yeah, I'm dying," Dick choked.

Quick to switch the subject, Megan remarked, after eyeing the boys, "He doesn't seem adverse to the attention."

Shaking his head, Dick said, "Nah, the tough guy definitely has a soft spot for kids. Enjoys the company, too, I think."

"Like one of Megan's cookies," Artemis said philosophically. "Hard and crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy in the center."

Megan's face flared up embarrassedly, failing to conceal her pout.

"Don't listen to him, Megs. Your snacks are fantastic!" Wally comforted.

"For the man with an iron stomach, that doesn't mean much." The archer rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, I figured we might as well get some air before tonight. There's that party at the museum." He tried to contain his annoyance and failed miserably. "On the bright side, I convinced Bruce to let us take Conner."

Frowning, Megan asked, "Sure that's a good idea?"

Dick, actually, did have his doubts about the arrangement. But to voice them aloud felt like a betrayal.

"Well, I didn't want to leave him home alone, and Alfred has the night off. Care to suggest an alternative?" he retorted instead.

"You could send him over to my place so he and Bart can have a play date," Wally joked.

Smirking, Dick adopted an air of perplexity. "But if Bart's busy playing with Conner, who's going to babysit you?"

That earned him cookie to the face, but considering it was store-bought, it didn't hurt quite as bad as Megan's 'Oatmeal Raisin Surprise'.

* * *

_Later..._

"I feel like a douche bag," Conner muttered, yanking at his collar like he couldn't get quite enough air. Dick smacked his hand away and went back to straightening the suit.

"High Society Rule Number 1: Never depreciate your own appearance."

"Okay," Conner acquiesced, stiffening in deep thought. "I feel like a fancy douche bag."

Dick chuckled, "Better, I suppose."

Leading Conner over to the full-length mirror, he had to admit, the pair of them looked pretty snazzy. Barring Conner's perpetual scowl, of course.

"Perk up, dude. Scowling at parties isn't very aster." Conner's expression diminished into a dull glower. Taking a different approach, Dick leered at their reflections. "Alright, I prefer my favorite hoodie to a monkey suit any day, but you have to admit, we look like a pretty damn fine couples of guys."

_"You_ look fine," Conner said, and Dick pretended not to be as flattered as he felt. "I, however, look like I... Like I don't belong," he finished lamely.

_Is that what he's worried about?_ The acrobat inwardly smiled. _He's got a lot to learn._

"Lemme let you in on a secret," said Dick confidentially. "You don't want to belong with these high-society snobs. Trust me. And if you don't fit in there, just we what we Waynes do."

Conner glanced at him in question.

Dick winked. "Fake it."

* * *

_Even later..._

_Totally not feeling the aster tonight,_ was all Dick could think, dressed in his monkey suit, surrounded by a flock of clucking hens in their glamorous attire, using every ounce of willpower he possessed to resist yawning.

Bruce was playing the part of the extremely enthralled bachelor flawlessly, and beside him, Dick was doing a remarkable impression of an attentive son. Even Tim, as devious as he was at home, was being a perfect little gentlemen. Their dynamic was down pact.

He wondered where Conner had migrated off to, but mused that it was probably a blessing in disguise, as Conner seemed to dislike large groups of people. Especially the kind who expected him to listen to their dribble. If anything, the lucky bastard was probably stationed near a wall somewhere, avoiding social interaction and playing it cool.

"Dick," Tim whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

"What?"

"I have to pee," his little brother informed, legs dancing with a sense of urgency.

Dick released an infamous 'I'm-a-big-brother-and-I-unfortunately-have-to-deal-with-this' sigh.

"Emergency bathroom break?" Tim nodded frantically.

Giving the other guests a charming smile, Dick excused himself, saying he had to escort his little brother to facilities. He heard the hens mutter about him being 'such a cute, responsible brother' as he walked away and shook his head.

Hopefully, Conner was having a better time than him.

* * *

Standing near the wall and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Conner resisted the latent urge to stomp outside and tear off his tie. Sure, doing so would make him feel better, but that would mean causing a spectacle. And the last thing Conner wanted was to be noticed by these people.

As it were, things were going as they normally did in his case. He was being left alone, quietly lost amongst the crowd, and that was fine. There were worse scenarios to be in. He'd spotted Dick somewhere before, and though none of the snobs seemed to see it, Conner could tell that he was painfully bored.

_Wonder if he's still trapped._ Curious, and with nothing better to do, Conner scoured the crowd.

He found Mr. Wayne immersed in conversation with a group of snobby, stuffy attendants. Mentally, Conner scoffed, pondering if any of them knew how insincerely the billionaire was feigning interest in their petty conversation.

Then he saw a man, who if anybody was paying as close enough attention as Conner, would have noticed him subtly edging towards Wayne and his crowd.

Frowning, Conner inspected the man's attire. The coat was new—obviously never worn—the shirt fancy, but the shoes—They were all wrong. They were worn, comfortable, and good for running. But why would anyone need the means for a quick escape at this kind of scene?

Radars were going off inside his mind, screaming _danger,_ and feral instinct made Conner remove himself from the wall. Because if Dick's teaching was anything to go by, no self-respecting guest would ever show up to one of these parties without the proper clothes. Which meant that the man wasn't here to impress.

He had an agenda.

A cold feeling shuddered down Conner's spine, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

The last time he'd seen Dick and Tim, they had been at Bruce's side.

Right as the thought entered his head, he began walking towards Mr. Wayne, and was but a few feet away when a flash of metal caught his eye, and Conner couldn't remember anything beyond that except the speed of his legs carrying him across the room.

* * *

Shouts and shrill shrieks assaulted every ear in the vicinity, as the attempted assassin was seen wielding a knife, but when his target was tackled to safety, the man found himself attacked by quick-acting security, shouting_ "Restrain him!"_ Between the burst of noise and adrenaline, Conner barely had time to be embarrassed about sending the city's most prominent billionaire falling to the floor.

For his part, Mr. Bruce Wayne looked unharmed, if not a bit ruffled. More than anything, he seemed shocked at Conner's daring rescue.

"Mr. Wayne, are you okay?" somebody asked worriedly.

"...Fine," answered Bruce, looking at Conner in surprise. "You saved my life."

Unsure of what to say, Conner simply nodded.

"How did you even get over here so fast?" he asked as he stood, shaking off the hands that tried to help him up. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm _fine._ I've been dealing with assassination attempts since I could walk properly. Occupational hazard."

The crowd chuckled lightly, still on their toes, and the mob surrounding them disbanded as people hurried about to call the police. Leaving Bruce and Conner alone, where the billionaire raised the question he'd asked before.

"I didn't want anybody to get hurt," the teenager replied honestly. A bit self-consciously, he added, "And after everything you've done for me, it only seemed fair."

Bruce stared straight ahead, lips pursed thinly. "Richard's the one you should really thank. He convinced me to let you stay. If it had been up to me alone..."

"I figured."

"You know, Conner," Bruce began, sighing. "Maybe we haven't see eye-to-eye in the short span of time we've known each other. But my sons are really intent on keeping you around. I suppose I should...be less reluctant to the idea. And try more often to adjust."

"Likewise, sir," the boy agreed.

"It's Mr. Wayne or Bruce," said Bruce firmly, extending a hand for Conner to shake, to compensate for the greeting he never gave before. "We're even now. That's enough to be on a name basis, isn't it?"

The peace treaty forged, Conner shook it with a smile.

* * *

Amongst the chaos and frantic party guests, two boys emerged from the throng of spectators. Tim immediately ran off in search of their father, and Dick intended to follow, when a familiar figure stepped in front of his path.

"Are you alright?" he asked Conner concernedly. "What happened?"

"Man with a knife," the older boy responded curtly, roaming over Dick with a critical eye. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Sure, sure!" Dick assured, with more important matters on his mind, "How's Bruce?"

"Holding up. Attempted stabbing barely fazed him." Conner's expression was an indecipherable mask of despondency. "I couldn't find you."

Frowning at his friend, Dick replied, "Yeah, I went off to find the bathroom and was just about to head back when I heard all the commotion. So I quick took Tim back inside and waited until it sounded safe. I would've have rushed out to find you, but I had my little brother with, and I couldn't risk—"

Before he could even finish, his explanation was muffled by a thick set of arms enveloping him in an embrace. The contact was unexpected but comforting, and Dick returned it unsurely.

Death threats were usually a good excuse for chick flick moments.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Conner said into the top of his head. He sounded utterly relieved. "Both of you."

Smiling fondly, Dick gently ended the hug and glanced at his friend surreally. "Geez, what's got into you?"

Those shadows cast across Conner's face again. "When I saw that guy lunging for Mr. Wayne, I thought you were nearby. So I..._reacted." _

"Reacted? Taking a chance and nearly getting yourself stabbing is a _reaction?"_

Conner shrugged.

"Hell of a reflex you have," Dick laughed. "Good thing, too."

Realizing how closed he'd actually come to possibly losing his father(again), Dick felt his throat tighten.

"Thanks, Conner. For saving my dad." His face got stern, "But no more risky stunts for you either, capiche?"

Genuinely confused, Conner blinked. "Huh?"

"I mean, no squaring off against dangerous, knife-wielding psychopaths! What do you think you are—made of steel?"

"...sorry?"

Dick sighed. "Just, how about we agree not to do things that worry each other anymore? Or at least try to the best of our abilities. Deal?"

Conner firmly grasped it. Dick pretended to ignore the tingles his touch sent down his arm. "Deal."

* * *

So, was that any good? To be honest, I've been kind of out-of-touch with my YJ muses, due to a huge Supernatural binge, but they've returned and given me ideas!

Shameless plugging here, but I shall be posting a new story soon (_after_ I finish it, so you won't have to worry about delayed updates), and if you enjoy my work you might enjoy this! It's called _Sins of the Father._ Keep a look out!


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